The Unknown Number
by The Consulting Panda
Summary: On top of the Scotland Yard stands a man. He's done with his life and sends one last text to his brother to come get his body. But when he presses the wrong number, it just might save his life. "First off, who the hell names their kid Mycroft? Secondly, might I as ask what it is you're done with?" Rated T for mentions of suicide and homicide.


**_The Unknown Number_**

**_by The Consulting Panda  
_**

* * *

**Mycroft Holmes: 888-754-912**

**Call Home**

**Call Mobile**

**Call Work**

**Text **

* * *

**Sent: 13:14**

**To: 888-744-912**

**Message:**

I'm done.

When you get a free moment you can pick me at the Scotland Yard.

* * *

The dark headed boy stood atop of the NSY. Why did he pick the Scotland Yard? Simply because of the irony. The only reason he would want to live another day is to see the papers the next morning which would no doubt be filled with articles about a man committing suicide from the top of the Scotland Yard.

He looked down at the people passing by, _idiots_. He hated them, why did he have to be different? Why did everyone hate him so much? There was no place for him in this world, might as well leave it.

Sure his mother would be upset, but she would get over it, just like she did when father left.

Sure Mycroft might be furious, but he would soon be distracted by his work.

He could just see Sebastian Wilk's smug smile; he could visual it perfect as those lips moved and a voice came from behind them telling him off, humiliating him in front of everyone at Uni.

He closed his eyes,

He started to lean forwards.

And suddenly he felt his phone in his pocket vibrating.

_The one time I DIDN'T want him to answer!_

Sherlock fished his phone out and glanced at the screen, planning to ignore Mycroft.

**_Incoming Call: Unknown Number_**

Well, wasn't that convenient? No doubt some trick from Mycroft in attempt to get him to answer. Might as well humor him one last time, it's not like anything he had to say to him would change his mind.

"Leave me alone Mycroft!"

"First off, who the hell names their kid Mycroft? Secondly, might I as ask what it is you're done with?"

The blood quickly drained from Sherlock's face making him go pale. No doubt whoever this was already called the police and was already on their way up. He would have to make this quick.

"I'm sorry sir, but I must have dialed the wrong number. No need to be alarmed, I'm just dealing with police business and need my brother to come pick me up; I was in a car accident."

"Yeah, I don't think so." said a voice from behind Sherlock.

The would be detective turned around to see an officer with a phone to his ear.

Damn it! Not only did he dial the wrong number, but he dialed the number of an officer who just happened to be working at the NSY that day! Fate certainly hated him.

"No need to panic sir, just enjoying the view."

"That's bullocks and you know it."

"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE ONE STEP FORWARDS OR I'LL JUMP!" Sherlock screamed when the officer in question took a step towards him.

"Do you know how annoying it is? Not only that but rude?"

"What?" That was definitely not the answer Sherlock had expected.

"Jumping I mean, do you know how many suicides the department has to deal with? And the traffic! It becomes horrific! And the family...You just say one word and it's all tears and snot! But the worst, the absolute worst part of having to deal with suicides is the paper work! I can honestly say that I am perfectly happy working with homicides!"

Sherlock finally looked at the man, really looked at him.

_One last time before I go..._

"You're a Sergeant working for the homicides department of the Scotland Yard. You were just promoted to that position two- maybe three months ago. According to your boss you're a shoe-in for Detective Inspector, he's right you know. Your wife is currently cheating on you, you know this and you're trying to fix your marriage, it's hopeless by the way. Your father was in the army, you wanted to follow in his footsteps. Until that is, when your family got the message that he was killed in by a grande. You felt like a coward for years, you finally decided you wanted something more for your life and joined the Scotland Yard."

The Sergeant was speechless, but after a moment he recovered. "Not bad, but you were wrong about a couple things."

_There's always something!"_

"Oh? What?"

"Yes, my dad did die in the army, but it was from an ambush. And yes, I did felt like a coward for years for backing out. But the reason I joined the Scotland Yard was because rather than wanting something more for my life, I wanted to affect other people's lives."

"Oh? And is that why you're up here now, is it? Oh here comes the DI wanna-be coming to save the day!"

"Actually, I don't want to be a DI, too much paper work."

"Is that your only concern?! The paper work?! You do realize I'm about to take my whole life and you're going on about PAPER WORK?!"

"No you're not."

"What?"

"If you were going to jump would have done so right after you realized I was up here."

Sherlock groaned, can't anyone commit suicide in peace anymore?!

"How'd you do that by the way?"

"DO What?!" Sherlock spat.

"That- That thing you did…when you guessed-"

"It's called The Science of Deduction."

"Can anyone do it?"

"Anyone who's not an idiot, but unfortunately most people are."

"Wow, most suicidals yell that they hate the world or that everyone is stupid. But calling most people an idiot because they can't deduce? That's a new one. This 'Science of Deduction, could you teach me how to do that?"

Sherlock smiled smugly, "Do you think I'm stupid?! There's nothing you can say or do to make me come down!"

"A woman found dead in her house with marks on her neck that indicate that she was strangled. We check all the suspects but none of them have any of her DNA on her and whoever killed her cleaned her neck before they left. Her husband found her body after he came home from work. The victim's sister has been staying at their house but she left that morning same time as the husband and took a bus to visit a friend for her birthday. The friend, husband and CCTV cameras confirm their alibis. If you're so smart, then tell me, who killed the wife?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, a challenge? Wha- why? He had to admit he was curious, but he knew what this would lead to. If he solved this case (It was painfully obvious by the way) than this Sergeant would lure him down with the promise of more cases.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Ah! So you admit you figured it out."

"Of course I did! It's Obvious!"

"Then tell me, who killed the woman?"

"Why should tell you?"

"Who killed her?"

"I don't have to tell you!"

"Who killed her?!"

"STOP IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO ANYTHING!"

"WHO KILLED HER?!"

"THE SISTER!"

Both men stood there out of breath, panting. "How? We check her alibi-"

"Then they lied! What kind of soap does she use?"

"What?!" The Sergeant questioned, bewildered.

"What kind of soap does she use? Is it in a liquid or a bar?"

The Sergeant thought for a moment, he remembers checking around the house looking in each room. His mind went back to the bathroom; it was a mind washing shade of white. On the counter; there was a pink, blue and also a yellow toothbrush. There were two different types of toothpaste and...Bar! The soap was bar form!

"Bar, they used bar soap."

"Check the soap for blood stains, if she was staying at their house she wouldn't know where the cleaning fluids were. So she would use the next thing she had; soap. If she's not that clever she wouldn't have thought to wash off the soap after she used it."

"Huh, never thought of that, that's good point. Say, what's your name by the way?"

"Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll excuse me I have my suicide to attend to."

The Sergeant sighed, "Lestrade, Sergeant Greg Lestrade. But trust me mate, you don't want to be doing that."

"And why not 'mate'?!" Sherlock said as he climbed back onto the ledge, he hadn't remembered climbing down. "'Why not? What's the point?! You're most likely about to say something about my family; well first off, my family doesn't care about me. My mother is too preoccupied and my brother is too busy running the government. Next you'll probably say something about my 'friends'. NEWSFLASH! I don't have any! And no, I'm not just saying that, I really don't have any friends, and then only person who could count as a friend makes it his everyday mission to publicly humiliate me!"

"No, actually, I wasn't going to say any of those things."

This wasn't right, usually people were so predictable, why wasn't this man? He was so ordinary! So why wasn't he doing the things that most ordinary people do?"

"But what I will say is that you have a gift. I saw that look in your eye when I mentioned homicides earlier. You said you don't have any friends or family who care, so get a new one! Make your own! Get a job, buy a house, and meet people! But trust me, this, suicide, this is just pathetic. Suicide is the easy way out, it's below you, and it's how you might say...ordinary."

* * *

And then he did it, Sherlock stepped down.

* * *

"So what do I do now? I've got no money, there's no way in hell my family would give me any! In a few days I'm going to be evicted, I have nothing!"

"You can kip on my couch for a few days."

Sherlock stared at the man with a puzzled expression. "I'm a stranger, I'm suicidal, and I'm a junkie! Why on earth would you invite me into your house!?"

"Junkie- you?"

"Yes! That's right! I'm a junkie! I'm addicted to cocaine! I stole from my brother and used my mother's money to buy more drugs! The same one's that I told her I was quitting!"

Right after Sherlock said those words someone began speaking through Sergeant Lestrade's talkie.

"Sir, there's a man on his way up; he says he's come for his brother."

Sherlock visibly deflated, "That's my brother, Mycroft. No doubt he'll lock me up in his house again and force me to withdrawal."

"How about I make you a deal."

Sherlock perked up.

No. This couldn't be happening. He just admitted he was addicted to illegal drugs! And he wants to make a deal?!

"What kind of deal?" Sherlock said skeptically.

"You get clean and I'll...Let you help me on cases. But only on ones we absolutely need your help and have hit a dead end!"

* * *

As Sherlock and Lestrade turned to go back inside a man in a suit came running up the stairs and burst through the door.

The two men stopped and stared wide-eyed at the man.

"Ah Mycroft! About time you showed up! Getting a bit slow-"

Suddenly Sherlock found himself in his brother's arms. Mycroft tightly embraced his brother and debated with the ridiculous notion to never let go. He could feel the panic from when his PA told him his brother had been spotted standing on the ledge of the NSY starting to wear off. Although Sherlock had thought he had stolen from Mycroft, his brother knew better. Mycroft had left the money out where he knew Sherlock would look, in his safe. Behind a false wall. At his office. Surrounded by CCTV camera, guards, sniffer dogs, movement sensitive lasers, padlock and key.

Yes, he left it out right where Sherlock could easily take it.

"You're coming back with me Sherlock, and you're not leaving until you're clean and you can get a job! I can get you a position working for me and you can stay in my guest room or the perhaps the family manor in-"

"No! Mycroft please, just listen for once!"

And for once, Mycroft did.

"I don't want to be kept under lock in key! Yes, I understand that I need help, but I want a say in this as well! I'm not a child anymore; it's time for you to stop treating me like one!"

"If it helps-"

The two men turned and remembered that they were not alone.

"I can help Sherlock get into a program where he'll get the help he needs. And once your clean, and have stayed cleaned, I'll let you...Consult with our cases."

Mycroft placed a hand on his little brother's arm. "You're not alone Sherlock, please call me next time you decide to do something unnecessarily drastic."

Lestrade shook his head; he had a feeling he was going to get use to this. Whatever this was, because he had this feeling, like he knew that this 'Sherlock' (Who the hell let their mum pick out their names!) would be arround for a very long time.

"...Consulting..." muttered under his breath.

"Hmm?" Lestrade said as he perked up.

"I think I know what I want to do...You know...As a job..."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Well...It's not a real job...I- I- I invented."

"Invented? What's it called?"

"Consulting Detective."

* * *

_**A/N: The number I used for Mycroft Holmes is a random number! Please DO NOT call this number! IF you have this number and would like me to change it just say so! The reason I wrote a phone number was so I could show the Sherlock dialed the wrong number. **_


End file.
